by B. F. O’Connor The world once laid in quiet repose A star was shining bright The shepherds stood among their flocks protecting them through the night The town was quiet the streets were still as they sought a place to abide They found themselves turned away from the warmth of the hearth inside A manger was found on the outskirts of town it was the best that their silver could bring With straw for a bed she laid herself down giving birth to our savior and King lovingly the animals all gathered round their eyes locked upon where he lay a beautiful singing could be heard outside As angels announced a new day A feeding trough made for a fair crib as the wise men gathered around following a star bringing them here they knelt bowing down to the ground Mercy was found shining in his eyes absolute joy was found in his gaze The promised gift from the Father above A light to burn off our sin’s haze Copyright ©2022 B. F. O’Connor |
Tag: poem
Near the Cold Grey Sky
by B. F. O’Connor
In the woods I hid
and watched the trespassers
weave among the forested slopes
on a winter day.
Birds screamed at their passing,
and squirrels scurried
through the wilted underbrush
and blankets of leaves.
Alone, I peered down
from the ancient blind
left by some merciless hunter,
becoming my refuge
from the chilly sorrows
of a mislaid sense of self-worth
Cold and chill
crept along my spine
drafting up my legs
and un-tucked shirt.
I watched strangers
dance beneath the barren limbs
of slumbering trees,
children dragging their parents
with words of coaxing
deeper into the resting forest’s expanse
seeking some unknown reward
for their noisy and bounding effort
beneath my refuge
among the twisted branches
near the cold grey sky.
Copyright © 2022 B. F. O’Connor
The Monkey’s Ride
by B. F. O’Connor
Reflections in the mirror of life,
flashbacks to a sordid past.
The emotional gambit, pity’s plight,
the stuff from which reality is cast.
A life of “candy” young free times,
Black Tar clouds, and Mexican Mud.
Bogging the mind and destroying within.
Whether white as snow or resin black –
The face of death dark and grim.
Turning away and finding oneself,
A horror, a ghost, just barely alive.
Realizing the truth and fighting to win,
Wading through the terror and lies.
Winning the fight, without self-esteem;
Struggling back from deaths near grip.
Leaving it all and everyone behind
And starting from scratch –
No needles – No sin.
Copyright © 2022 B. F. O’Connor
Trip to the Candy Abide
| By B. F. O’Connor Sleep my child and soon you will see A place where candy will grow on a tree The place the unicorn calls its home And many other strange animals roam Close your eyes and lay down your head So the angels can come to guard your bed And the horse with a horn will give you a ride To the place they call the candy abide Close your sleepy eyes and dream, dream, dream And take a long ride by the soda pop stream Where licorice trees grow in groves And the bread is made into teddy bear loaves The grass is yellow, blue, green, and red Where only the children are allowed to tread So close your eyes and be off to sleep For your ride is waiting and it won’t keep I remember the place from years gone by Where marshmallow clouds grow in the sky And the rivers are lined with chocolate banks The fences are made of graham cracker planks But I have grown and can go no more It now is your turn to go and explore And find the tin soldiers who march in a row So be quick and hurry before you too grow Copyright © 2022 B. F. O’Connor |
Broomsticks
| When witches ride the whirly wind And monsters stalk the breeze Our tale of horror will begin With the rustling of the trees In a forest dark with musty smells And limbs, that grab and reach Where sunlight tries but can’t get in Down through the birch and beech Where creeks and cracks echo long Startling the quiet and still When slithering things slide along And you shiver with a chill A heart beat stops a breath exhaled The horror sneaks about Goosebumps crawl across your skin Inside you scream and shout Copyright © 2022 B. F. O’Connor |
Between Dusk and Dawn
by B. F. O’Connor
In the dim hours of darkened skies;
seeing deep the reaches of the universe,
where worlds turn in silent symphony,
pulsing with the touch of creation.
Mooning at the infinite before me
stars upon stars beyond stars.
Hauntings hid among the shadows
in the darkness of night set free.
Roaming and seeking to no avail,
a time that can never again be found
among the lost deceit of a past life.
Clinging to a memory of what once was.
The orb of night arcs across the sky
washing away the distant depths of time.
The world in shades of gray sleeps
as Sol hides, beneath and behind,
awaiting his moment of triumph-
shadows fleeing at the noise of his coming.
Copyright © 2022 B. F. O’Connor
A Tide of Sorrow
by B, F. O’Connor
Shared memories still torment the mind
Moments re-lived of terror’s day
Moments of horror that shocked the world
Moments where innocence was washed away
The cry of emergency the flow of tears
Sorrow and mourning, loss and despair
Insanity pledged in great Allah’s name
To strike a blow to the wicked world
To avenge the tears and sorrow of Mecca
In the name of Islam the sacrifice made
The will of Allah through psychotic minds
Played out for the world; unbelieving to see
The height of Manhattan stood strong, proud
Rising high above the bustling city below
Like two great trees in the forest of buildings
A jewel in the crown of America’s pride
Of commerce and business the goings within
Billowing smoke from its wounded facade
The world watched uneasy as a fire burned
As heroes responded their duty so clear
Assisting the needy with their strong arms
While cameras watched from all sides
A country sat on the edge of their seats
Wondering how this mistake could occur
just a small plane or an explosion within
the images carried the debate to the world
until out of the corner of our collective eye
a passenger plane flying over so low
pierced the sister disappearing inside
an eruption of flames witnessed by all
Tides of sorrow washed across the soul
Our nation had long not felt such a blow
As the skies fell silent the world stood still
Watching the fires burn and the people fall
heroes still went marching into their fate
the buildings still enduring their pain
black burning billows then turned to brown
as the sister lost her footing and fell
the rumbling cry as she fell to the ground
went unheard by the cameras watching it all
the wail of the wind and the tears of debris
raced along the streets engulfing the maze
our nation’s tears fell with the crashing façade
then from Washington more horror and pain
A gaping hole in the guardian of hope
A burning pentagon marked the evil deed
And the country held its collective breath
Waiting for more from this unknown foe
A divot near a small keystone town
Marked the missing of a critical blow
As heroes decided to suffer their fate
Expressing their love on a cell phone
Deciding to suffer to fight and to die
Rather than allow some others to fall
Then as though that were not enough
The first sister stumbled under the weight
The tower that topped her tilted and dropped
the heroes within fell to death’s embrace
and tears fell like rain across this land
as the tides of sorrow flowed across it
Copyright © 2022 Brian Francis
I Am Alone
by B.F.O’Connor
They came to this place weak and tired
And fought to become, proud and free
living among these desert mountains
They raised their few into a great people
Covering the land like the clouds above
And came to be called by the name Apache
Great men rose to lead them to prosper
And they fought and defended
Their cherished desert home
None could resist their cunning and power
And fear was a companion to their enemy
Long did they live in natures embrace
Hunting to take their needs from the land
Until there came a people from the south
With knives as long as a grown mans leg
With shirts of iron and sticks of thunder
Wandering through the valley lands below
In waves came strangers who promised friendship
making homes in the valleys near the rivers’ edge
some tasted the wrath of Apache vengeance
for misdeeds and transgressions a fair price paid
a balance maintained — culture for culture
Their words were spoken true and honest
But deceit was all they heard in their ears
Promises taken as words of honor
Became nothing more than dust in the wind
Driving them back into their mountains
Making them enemies who’d tried to be friends
Then came the children of the great father
From a place far away called Washington
In floods they crossed the desert valleys
With soldiers who built great strong houses
All throughout their Apache home
They fought to protect their peoples and homeland
They suffered the losses of wars revenge
Killing many soldiers they struggled for freedom
More soldiers came to replace the dead
But their warriors fell also in battle
And nowhere were there replacement for them
Weakened once more they hid in their mountains
Flying from range to range to be safe
Agreeing to peace on their own reservation
They promised with honor to end their revenge
And settle alone in a Chokonen land
The few who were left offered their freedom
when they heard the words of the great father
Promises made to the great chief Chez
But words of the father were like dust in the wind
And sorrow was all that the white man offered
Imprisonment within a land that was dead
Author’s Note: Inspired by the great speech of Cochise (Chez)at the time of his surrender. The history of the Apache people is often clouded in the histories of the victors of those wars. Truth has never been a notable aspect of the white mans government. It seems little has changed over the years.
Copyright © 2022 B.F.O’Connor
Wailing Works
| By brian francis When the winds howl and rattle Thunder peeling like a great gong Penetrates, subsonic waves crashing The thin streaks of light branching Race across the sky crackling aloud Creosote breathes its fragrant smell Wafting on the wailing winds swirling Shuddering and shaking the turmoil Undulates into a mighty crescendo The deafening sound of the storm Intensifies as the clouds release The gentle pitter patter so tentative At first swells to become natures roar As the winds drive the waves passing Cleansing the very air with ozone That wonderful scent of after storm Like wafting incense drifting out of This great temple of the gods Copyright © 2022 brian francis |
Watching Clouds
by B.F.O’Connor
I’ve walked this road so many times
I know most every tree
My heart is wary, strength all spent
could someone set me free
The past is gone, as is my joy
my heart is on my sleeve
Missing you tears at my being
as I have learned to grieve
I avoid the sun, so I stay inside
sorting through our memories
My tears still fall like summer rains
The hurt just will not ease
So many things that were not said
with you still at my side
In dreams my heart still tries to mend
the hurt that hides inside
every single night I take our walk
around the west farm lane
I pause at places that remember you
And suffer my own private pain
I watch the clouds from our meadow log
just like we used to do
life has stopped, I’ve been consumed
I want to follow you
Copyright © 2022 B.F.O’Connor
Wordsmith: At The Forge 